


The Wolf Prince

by casstayinmyass



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - The Princess and the Frog (2009) Fusion, Asshole Thranduil, Bisexual Bard - Freeform, Confused Bard, Emotionally Constipated Thorin, Eventual Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield, Implied Sexual Content, Kissing, Legends, M/M, Magic-User Thranduil, Oblivious Bard, Sassy Bilbo Baggins, Smitten Bard the Bowman, Tavernkeep Bilbo, Thorin Has No Sense Of Direction, Thorin Is an Idiot, prince Thorin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-24
Updated: 2017-09-06
Packaged: 2018-12-19 08:59:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11894382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/casstayinmyass/pseuds/casstayinmyass
Summary: For Thorin, prince of Erebor, it's riches to rags when he is cut off from the family treasure for developing Gold Sickness. He is then sent out to get a proper job... he travels to Bree, where he plans to find a worthy partner to marry and bring back to show his father he cares about more than gold- but the scorned Elven King Thranduil is on his trail, and realizes this entire situation could work to his advantage.





	1. Chapter 1

The sun shone high over the hills of Dale, down into the valleys that led to Erebor. Inside the throne room within the walls of the great Lonely Mountain stood two dwarves of the same blood, this very blood boiling at the moment.

Thorin Oakenshield's laugh resounded through the vast halls of the mountain.

"You must be jesting."

"Do I look like I am jesting, boy?!" Thrain bellowed back. Despite his father's confrontational posture, the smug smirk never left Thorin's face.

"Well, sometimes you say what you do not mean," Thorin replied, loud enough so that all who were present in court could hear.

"What do you speak of?" the dwarven king growled.

"The day you proclaimed yourself king, was the day you lied to your people! What royal measures have you taken since then?!"

"It is my birthright to rule Erebor!" Thrain boomed.

"As it is mine!" Thorin yelled back. From beside the throne, Bard stood at his post, shifting his bow uncomfortably in his hand. These arguments were increasing in their frequency as of late, and each time, it was even less pleasant to endure the prince's greedy tirades than the last.

"You will get the gold, Thorin," Thrain growled low in his throat, taking his son by the collar, "When the throne is passed on to you. Not before."

"You sit here on your throne, forgetting you sit on a mountain of riches! I would use it!"

"For what, boy?" Thrain sneered, "To restore wealth across Middle Earth, and right all the wrongs you see in the world?" He chuckled bitterly. "If you're not careful, the same Dragon Sickness that took your grandfather could take you as well."

"How dare you?!" Thorin shouted, and Bard winced. Would the prince never learn? "How dare you compare me to that greedy old fool!?"

"There is not very much difference, Thorin, between an old fool, and a young fool," Thrain gritted out, sitting back, "Of that, I am now certain."

"Why did you summon me here?" Thorin asked, scoffing, "To berate me with your _wise words_ and riddles?"

Thrain sat thoughtfully, and after momentary deliberation, sighed. "I summoned you to discuss arrangements... arrangements for something I now see you are not prepared for."

"What?" Thorin asked, taken aback. Thrain sighed again, and had someone help him up.

"I am old, boy. You are my successor. But your obsession with the treasure that lies within this mountain has grown dangerous to you and the people you would rule over."

"Father... I-" Thorin began, swallowing, but Thrain cut him off.

"You need to be taught a hard lesson, Thorin, a lesson you won't soon forget. I, Thrain, son of Thror, hereby banish you, Thorin Oakenshield, from Dale, and rescind your claim to the throne... for the time being."

"Father!" Thorin shouted, but as Thrain looked to him, obvious confliction in his eyes, he gestured for the guards. Thorin shouted his father's name as he was dragged from the throne room, fighting against them until he was out of sight.

Bard watched after him, wondering how long this punishment would last... and how long the prince's hissy fit would last following. He was stirred out of his thoughts as Thrain summoned for him.

"Bard the Bowman," the dwarven king said, rubbing his temples. Bard knelt before him.

"Aye," he looked up, and Thrain clenched his jaw.

"I will have you follow him. Make sure he gets work, and learns the hard way that life owes him nothing-- one must be fit to rule if one is to give themselves selflessly to the service of his people."

Despite this being possibly the single worst assignment he had ever been given, Bard knew it was his duty... but still, something held him back.

"My children?" Bard inquired, "What of them? They cannot make the journey on foot."

"Nor will they need to," Thrain told him, "I will see to it that they are kept here and looked after until your return." Bard nodded at this. It pained him to leave his children for even so much as a day-- but they were used to his journeys by now, previously for business as a bargeman, now with business as the King's Hand.  

"I will ensure his safety, my King," Bard told Thrain. Thrain pattered his fingers along his throne.

"Oh, it's not his safety I'm worried about, Bowman. The boy can look after himself, he's made that quite clear... but if he's allowed to roam Middle Earth free, he'll find himself in the middle of a battle he started, and he'll get himself killed for glory before I blink an eye. Make sure he doesn't do anything... stupid?"

Bard suppressed a smirk. "Aye, sir." He then made his way out of the throne room, catching up with a fuming Thorin.

"Who does he think he is?!" the dwarven prince shouted, drawing his sword and whacking a stone with it. Bard eyed the chipped piece of rock that just flew past his nose.

"The King of Dale and Erebor. And your--"

"Don't say it," Thorin growled, and Bard found the tip of a blade at his throat. "Don't say _my father_ , like I'm some wayward child who refuses to follow the rules. Gold like that is precious, and should be celebrated!"

"There's more to life than gold," Bard told Thorin.

"Like what?" Thorin moped, stabbing his sword into a tree.

"Like a nice, warm inn in Bree," Bard sighed, "I'll bid my children goodbye, and with suitable provisions, we'll be off."

Bard knew the way to every little town in Middle Earth, as he had been quite the traveller before he had settled in Dale. He knew the best way to arrive the fastest.

* * *

"Is it true?"

The elven king had previously been sitting atop his throne, one leg kicked up, but he sat at full attention now, interest peaked. "Thorin, Prince Under The Mountain, has been banished from his homeland?" His icy blue eyes were wide.

"The news has carried all over Middle Earth, your grace," the elven soldier bowed.

"It was only a matter of time before his pride and arrogance ruined him. Where is he?"

"Nobody knows," the soldier informed him.

Thranduil stroked the material of his gown thoughtfully, feeling every crystal between his fingers and recalling every crystal he and his people were robbed of when Thorin's kin claimed the Mountain. An idea struck him.

"Legolas." His son stepped up, and Thranduil began to smile. "Find him. Bring him here, to me."

Legolas hesitated for a moment, but judging by his father's scheming look, it wouldn't mean the end for Thorin... not yet.

* * *

After a few day's travel on horse, Bard and Thorin made it to the quaint little village of Bree on the outskirts of Bag End, and Bard nodded, dismounting and patting the brick of the old tavern inn.

"Lost my virginity here," he said proudly, grinning, "Barmaid, she'd been eyeing me all night. "

"Congratulations," Thorin muttered.

"Found out the hard way her husband owned the bar. I think he's sold it since, to a halfling or something-- at least I hope he has." Thorin kicked a stone so forcefully it shattered a far off window. "Why the sour mood?" Bard crossed his arms.

"If I'm not mistaken, you were present when my father cast me out of my own kingdom," Thorin snapped as they entered the warm inn, "All for what? Loving gold a little?"

"If _I'm_ not mistaken, you've been showing signs of Dragon Sickness," Bard told Thorin, plunking himself down at a table, "So unless you'd like to go mad with lust for shiny things just like Thror did, I'd say you should be thanking the man."

Thorin would prolong the argument, but after travelling miles in one day, he simply didn't have the energy. As he set his things down on the chair next to his, a cheerful little guy came over to their table, looking up at the two of them.

"What'll it be, lads? Two ales, or can I rustle you up a couple mugs of my famous cider?" The hobbit looked rather proud at the mention of his "famous" cider as he hooked his thumbs in his suspenders, so much so that Thorin almost wanted to request it so he could see the funny way he puffed out his chest again. But Bard spoke up, as usual.

"Ale is fine, thanks," the bowman told the happy little guy with a smile, and the guy bowed, hurrying off to fill two tankards for the weary strangers. Thorin's eyes followed the barkeep, but he soon snapped them back to the table, and the dwindling candle in the middle of it. He then looked up, and surveyed the dreary picture of the torrential rain drizzling down the cracked windows of the inn.

"I miss the comforts of home," Thorin grumbled.

"I miss my daughter's kiss upon my cheek, but you don't hear me complaining about it," Bard told Thorin, "Now kindly quiet down and drink your ale."

Again, Thorin wanted to remind Bard who he was speaking to-- he may have been banished, but he was still a prince-- but he just obliged, drinking down almost his full tankard and slamming his mug down.

"More!" he called, and people looked over at him.

 _"Thorin Oakenshield, prince of Dale?"_ people began murmuring.

_"Oakenshield?"_

_"Gods, is it him?"_

_"The prince himself?!"_

People began to cheer, and Thorin stood, casting his hood off and lifting his arms as he basked in the praise.

"Will you sit down, for god's sake?" Bard mumbled, yanking the dwarf's cloak and dropping Thorin back into his seat, "If too many people know you're here, the chances of orcs dropping in for a visit become higher."

"I'll slaughter all of the orcs I can get my hands on-"

"Orcs?" The hobbit was back with more ale, popping his head between the two. "Oh no no no, you don't have to worry about them around here, nope! Haven't seen one since the day I chased one out with my broom!"

Thorin blinked. "You what?"

"Well... it was a small one, if you must know, but..." the man smiled, rocking back and forth on his heels. Thorin smirked. It seemed like this was the hobbit's greatest achievement, something he must brag about daily.

"And..." Thorin decided to indulge him, his voice a mix of amusement and condescension, "How big was this mighty orc you chased away?"

"Well..." the hobbit thought about this. "Well, about as big as you!"

"As big as me?" Thorin deadpanned.

"Oh, yes."

"It seems to me, master hobbit," he replied, "You chased away a feral dwarf!"

People around them began laughing, and Thorin laughed louder, seeking an audience he could easily acquire. The hobbit went red.

"Well... well, there'll be no disturbances from orcs _or_ feral dwarves as long as I'm here!" he retorted, scowling and scurrying away, and Bard raised an eyebrow.

"What?" Thorin grunted.

"It does bring you such joy to rain on people's parades, doesn't it?" Bard muttered.

"Rain on what?" Thorin frowned. "I'd say it's raining outside enough for anything."

Bard rolled his eyes. This would be a long journey.

Over where the respectable hobbit-- whose name was Bilbo Baggins-- stood, polishing some mugs, he watched this prince and his handler. He was a specimen, really-- the stories told of Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thrain, did him no justice in person, truly. But Bilbo could hardly say the same for his personality.

He shrugged to himself. He didn't know their story, but Thorin was royalty, which meant he would be out of town as quick as he came in. Ever since moving here to Bree from the Shire a couple of years back and buying this inn for a new lifestyle, he had come to learn the patterns in a place like this.

From his seat, Thorin eyed Bilbo. He was good looking, for a hobbit... red curls with impish features common to their race, but instead of mildly resembling a half-formed troll like some hobbits Thorin had encountered, this one had almost elvish inclinations... he was rather stunning, in his own cute sort of way.

Thorin quickly dismissed these thoughts from his head, though, as him just being tired and sexually deprived as of late. These thoughts weren't productive in the least-- if Thorin was to show his father he could rule, he had to bring home a prize with him, a noble born...

Not some polite, infectiously agreeable little hobbit tavernkeep from Bree.

"Who are you staring at?" Bard asked.

"No one," Thorin muttered, and Bard laughed.

"Yes, for a hobbit, he is a looker, isn't he?"

"What of it?" Thorin grunted defensively. Bard shook his head.

"You know, we'll be in town for a while."

"What are you implying?"

Bard cocked his head. "You need to work. You could work here, and..."

Thorin slammed his mug down. "I am not so easily wooed by a pretty face as you are, Bowman, nor am I tempted to stray from my quest to find a suitable partner to rule with! Further, I, Thorin, son of Thrain, do not sully myself serving others in an establishment such as this! I will find someone who loves me, and return home to show the King I am capable of loving more than gold!"

"My god, have a light conversation with you, and I've basically made a death wish!" Bard tossed his arms up, and stepped outside the tavern to get some air. Bilbo looked over with raised eyebrows at the commotion, and saw Thorin sitting, staring down into his tankard angrily. The more he watched, the more Thorin's anger turned into sadness, a crestfallen expression developing on his face.

 _He's right,_ Thorin thought to himself bitterly, _I'm not being particularly pleasant..._ _perhaps I've treated him too harshly._ The dwarf went to rise and go get Bard, but stopped when he saw the hobbit approaching. He swallowed, and pretended to still be transfixed by his ale.

"Everything, eh... alright?"

"What's it to you, hobbit?" Thorin replied gruffly, almost cringing at how utterly hateful his voice sounded. The hobbit blinked, and patted his shoulder.

"Before we go any further, I think introductions are in order. Bilbo Baggins, at your service." He waited expectantly for a polite, _"Thorin Oakenshield, at yours"_ in response.

"I'm sure you know who I am," Thorin returned, finishing off his tankard. Bilbo opened his mouth, closed it again, then nodded slowly.

"Right, yes, well you've obviously just been through something tough."

"Like you would know," Thorin scoffed, "You've probably never been outside these city limits." Bilbo looked down.

 "With all due respect, your, ehm, your highness..." A strangely sombre look passed through his eyes, "You really have no idea." The dwarf looked up curiously at this, but as he regarded Bilbo closer, the rage at his own attractions boiled up again.

"Go bother somebody else," the dwarf muttered, "I didn't come here to listen to some hobbit's troubles." Bilbo balked a little, exhaling, then nodded, backing away with his hands up.

"Well, good. Fine. People like you-- prince or no, mind!-- are not worth my time."

He hurried back to his position polishing glasses, and Thorin bit his lip. There, he'd gone and done it again. _Damn it..._

Outside, Bard leaned his head back against the brick, letting the lukewarm rain fall onto his forehead and soak his hair. It was times like these he wished he had brought some good tobacco with him... not that he could afford it, anyway.

He wondered what Sigrid, Bain, and Tilda were doing now... probably enjoying their stay in the palace... unless Thrain had kept them at home, and simply brought someone in to live with them for the time being. Little Tilda had been the saddest when Bard informed them he was leaving, but Sigrid and Bain had wished him good fortune and safety, and after a kiss for each of them and big hugs shared, Bard had been off.

He sighed. They lived so meagrely... despite the pride of being hand of the king, it wasn't a well paying job-- he dared say he made more as a bloody bargeman.

Just then, as his eyes finally began to adjust to the night, he noticed slight movement beyond the trees. It looked like a darting animal-- a gazelle perhaps?-- moving through the trees like lightning. Bard never felt particularly threatened by animals, but there was something about whatever this was...

No, those movements did not seem animalistic in nature. It was someone, obviously here for a purpose.

 _Great,_ Bard thought wearily, _already, Thorin's attracted unwanted visitors._ He drew his bow, loading an arrow from his quiver, but as he aimed, someone dashed by in a flash of white, plucking the arrow from his bow, and not seconds later, he felt another arrow aimed at his temple.

"No sudden moves," the stranger said, his voice level and too calm for someone who just moved that fast. Bard remained still, so the bow was lowered. "Where is Thorin Oakenshield?"

Bard let out a huff; just as he had thought. Well, now it was time to earn his keep defending the prince.

"Nowhere you can find him," Bard replied, clenching his jaw stubbornly. The stranger quirked his head, looked over to the tavern, then back at Bard. Bard pursed his lips. "Aye, reasonable assumption."

The creature then removed his hood, and Bard frowned. _An elf?_

"I am Legolas Greenleaf, prince of Mirkwood, son of Thranduil," the being with the white hair said, "My father demands Thorin's presence in his court."

"Why?" Bard scowled. Legolas tilted his head again.

"The luxury of asking questions is not one you have, human. Take me to him."

"I won't," Bard stood tall, lifting his chin. He may not be overly fond of Thorin, but he was no traitor, and he didn't want him to fall into harm's way. Legolas narrowed his eyes.

"Then I shall take you in his place." Before Bard could react or make a move, Legolas hit him over the head with his bow, and slung him over his shoulders, slipping back into the forest as quietly as he had emerged.

Inside, Thorin began to question where Bard had really disappeared to. He got up, went outside, and looked around... no sign of the man.

"He left me," he muttered, and ran a hand through his hair. Sure, he had pushed Bard, but surely not that far...? "The bastard left me!" Growling, Thorin hit the wall, and stormed back inside. This time, Bilbo did not approach him in any attempt to comfort.


	2. Chapter 2

Bard came to at the foot of a walkway. As he peered around in and out of consciousness, he appeared to be in some kind of forest... or a throne room, so it seemed, inside of a forest.

"What's this?" Thranduil's sharp eyes narrowed as the man was dropped to his knees before him.

"The prince's protector," Legolas informed him. Thranduil looked on with curiosity.

"Prettier than most men, wouldn't you agree?" the elven king smirked, and Legolas resisted the urge to roll his eyes at his father.

"He's stubborn," the younger elf replied.

"Is that why you came to me without Thorin?" Thranduil's eyes snapped to his son's, and Legolas clenched his jaw.

"He would not let me take Thorin."

Thranduil's eyes narrowed, but he waved his hand. "No matter. There is no need to start a war over one dwarf prince... it is for the better I deal with his _handler_."

"I'm not a handler."

Thranduil looked down at the man in amusement as he came to. "Oh? What are you then? A guardian?"

Bard frowned. "Aye. That's a good way of putting it."

Thranduil huffed, but sat back on his throne. "You guard Thorin Oakenshield?"

Bard held his frown, looking around. "Where am I?"

"That is not your concern."

Bard looked around. "Mirkwood." Thranduil rolled his eyes.

"Well, it's not that hard to figure out. Now, answer me."

Bard eyed the king. "I am his guardian, yes."

"And you... _agree_ he lacks humility."

Bard scoffed. "That's an understatement." Realizing he shouldn't be saying this to a foreign enemy of the people he serves, he quickly shut up. Thranduil's chin tilted.

"I wish to give him a lesson in humility. Hear me, if you will... what is your name?"

He held a period of hesitation, but there was a she-elf who looked ready to draw her blades at any moment if he didn't comply with the niceties, so Bard spoke up. "Bard." Thranduil hummed, giving Bard a once over of admiration, then regarded his bow.

"Tell me, Bard... the Bowman... does Thorin Oakenshield truly deserve the throne of Erebor?"

Bard kept his mouth closed, but his eyes were all too telling. Thranduil was very close to him now, stalking around him in a circle as if he was about to prey on the man... Bard really shouldn't find this as attractive as he did, but the elf's beautiful long hair, intense blue eyes, and tall, slender form didn't help much.

"What are you thinking of right now, Bowman?" Thranduil smirked, and Bard's cheeks coloured slightly.

"Returning to my duties."

"I'm sure you are," Thranduil gave a sly smile. "Well, I shouldn't keep you long, then. No longer than necessary."

"Aren't you gonna lock me up?" Bard asked.

"Would you like me to?" Thranduil returned. Bard hesitated.

"Look, why did you bring me here? To play games? What do you want with the prince?"

"Your prince is a selfish boy. His bloodline, the line of Durin, has stolen from my people and brought dishonour to our centuries old alliance."

"So you want to kill him?" Bard guessed.

"Oh no," Thranduil kept on smirking, "No, my dear Bard. But I do want something... as do you."

Bard paused. "What do you mean?"

"Everyone wants something," Thranduil raised an eyebrow. "And know what you would give your life for... I'm an excellent judge of character."

"No, you don't know," Bard told him confidently. He wasn't like other men. He didn't want riches, or fame, or glory. All he wanted was-

"A good life for your children," Thranduil's face blossomed into a grin. "Lovely. You care so deeply for those small creatures."

"What have you done with them?!" Panic rose in Bard's chest, but it was soon alleviated when Thranduil gave a look of disinterest, draping himself back over his throne.

"I don't even know where they are or who they are, so I haven't laid a finger on them. And I won't," he nodded, "You have my word." Something in the elf's face told Bard he could trust that statement; elves were an honourable people as well, and never broke their solemn word. But he was still confused... what did Thranduil of Mirkwood _want,_ then?

"If Thorin were to..." Thranduil considered this. "Become lost-- and by this, I do not mean death, Bowman-- _you_ would inherit the throne."

"Thrain is king," Bard dismissed, disgusted at the implication.

"Thrain, son of Thror, is sick, and grows old. He won't last much longer, and with Thorin gone, you would become the rightful ruler of Dale."

"I will not give Thorin's life so that I can rule," Bard scowled, "The day I do such a thing is the day I possess not a thread of honour any longer."

"Like I said..." Thranduil hummed, pattering his long, pale fingers, "His life will not be in danger. Simply a lesson to learn, and that is all." Bard shook his head adamantly, but Thranduil broke his perplexion. "Think of your children. Think of the lives they could have, master Bard-- do not do it for yourself. Do it for them."

Bard was well-off enough to get by without starving, but not as much as he would like to be with three hungry mouths to feed. He always dreamed of a better life for Sigrid, Bain, and Tilda... how nice Sigrid would look in a silk dress, how proud Bain would be to name his first steel blade sword, how happy Tilda would be with a room full of toys and dolls.

"Only... a lesson?" the Bowman asked apprehensively, already feeling a little queasy at the fact that he was even considering this. "That is it?"

"One that would better the lives of every man, woman, and child in Dale," Thranduil nodded, "And arguably the entirety of Middle Earth," the elf added as a sardonic afterthought. Bard considered this as Thranduil resumed his pacing, down around him and back. "This is the honourable thing to do," the elf went on coaxing, trailing a finger across Bard's broad back. Through the touch, Thranduil was able to see the interactions Bard had had with Thorin. "...Think of all the times Thorin has mistreated you and all the others in his life. The dwarven prince values your life no more than he values a filthy goblin's."

Despite himself, Bard began to think. Thorin's constant complaining, selfish ways, and insults... then his kids' faces returned to his mind, and how nicely and comfortably they could live if he were king.

"Where should I bring him?" the bowman asked, standing up straight, and Thranduil smiled.

* * *

Thorin opened one eye as he heard the small window open. Someone was climbing in through the window of his room in the inn... he jumped up, drawing his sword.

"Who goes there?!" he asked the dark, swinging the sword right into the beam by the window.

"Bard the Bowman, at your service," Bard returned, wrinkling his nose as he caught the few strands of hair Thorin had just sliced off him. Thorin tossed his sword in frustration.

"You. Where did you run off to?"

"I had business to take care of," Bard muttered, dropping his bow and quiver and biting his lip. Lying usually came naturally to him, but that was when he was doing it for the good of the people, not for convoluting with an attractive elf king.

"What business could be more important than my protection?" Thorin asked, and Bard scoffed.

"None of your concern. I answer to your father, not to you. Besides, what happened to 'I don't need protection'?"

Thorin grumbled. "It wouldn't hurt to have an extra weapon around, in case an Orc pack were to attack."

"In Bree? Not likely. I'll have to agree with the little hobbit downstairs-- Orcs raid cities, not travelling towns like this, and this close to the Shire, at that."

At the mention of the hobbit, Thorin looked up, heart lifting as he thought of that bright smile. Then he remembered what he had said to Bilbo earlier, and his mood soured again.

"Tomorrow, we ride west into the woods for the day," Bard told Thorin, getting into bed, "A very important person wants to meet with you."

"And who would that be?" Thorin scoffed, crossing his arms.

 _Someone who might talk a little sense into you,_ Bard wanted to reply, but instead feigned snoring, flipped over on his side. As he closed his eyes to attempt to truly drift, he kept his children in his minds' eye. He was doing this for them.

* * *

"I asked you, _who_ are we meeting with?" Thorin persisted, gazing up around him and his travelling companion as they made their way through the brush of the forest.

"And I asked you to trust me," Bard muttered, batting a branch away from his face. He never was one for forests. They trekked onward for another half mile before they came to a fork in the road. "Damn vines everywhere..." Bard mused, "Can't tell which way's-"

"The Prince under the Mountain."

The man and the dwarf both turned to see Thranduil standing before them, accompanied by his son and another female elf they didn't recognize.

Thorin turned to Bard, eyes wide. "Draw your sword!" He drew his own, battle ready, until he realized no one else was on their guard. He looked around, and saw Bard walk over to Thranduil's side, regarding the man incredulously.

"You speak to me of _trust_ ," Thorin spat, "Yet here you convolute with the enemy." Bard avoided his eyes, standing by Thranduil. "I never took you for an elf's whore," Thorin continued to try and provoke him, and successfully, as Bard seethed at this, stepping forward. Thranduil just set a hand on Bard's chest, holding him back.

"Cast out from your own home, dwarf," Thranduil murmured, walking around Thorin. Bard frowned as he watched the elf king... he had a strange habit of circling people as if he was about to devour them, and Bard had a funny feeling Thorin didn't find it as arousing as he himself did. "What will you do now?"

"I shall find someone worthy of marriage, and take them home to show my father I can once again reclaim my place as heir to the throne of Erebor."

"Oh... you haven't heard?" Thranduil smirked slightly to himself, then feigned a sympathetically grim expression for the shorter being, "Your father has grown ill over the passing days you have been away. He is not expected to _last_ much longer."

Thorin blinked a couple of times, taking a few steps back. "Liar," he whispered, brows drawing together, then he raised his voice. "Liar!!"

"I disliked him as much of any of my people, it is known, but it would not be an honourable thing to do to tell tales of such things," Thranduil shook his head regrettably.

"Honour," Thorin scoffed, "It seems I am the only one with any sliver of it left in this whole forest!" His voice echoed, a couple of ravens flying off; Bard wouldn't meet his eyes. He could feel the hurt and betrayal radiating off of Thorin, and it was making him uncomfortable. Thranduil never mentioned this part of the plan, where they brought up Thorin's father...

"I pity you, dwarven prince," Thranduil inspected his rings idly as he spoke, "Anyone in your situation would naturally be feeling rather... touchy."

"You're just as happy to see me banished as the Pale Orc would be to see my father's head on a spike!" Thorin shouted, and Thranduil's head snapped over to Thorin, icy eyes wide as he fixed him with a glare.

"How dare you compare me to that filth, you dwarven brat?!" he hissed, tone almost likened to that of a serpent's.

"You, Thranduil, son of Oropher, who lack all honour, are no more than that! Filth!"

Thranduil clenched his graceful jaw, fire in his eyes and every shred of feigned propriety lacerated. "I should have murdered you in the throne room that day your father robbed my people of our jewels as an example of what I am capable of." His hand began to glow a dim white. "Alas... this will be a far worse punishment."

"Punishment?" Bard suddenly came forward, placing a hand on Thranduil's wrist to pause him, "But you said--"

"I know what I said," Thranduil told the bowman, smiling, "To him, this will be punishment. To me, but a simple lesson."

Thorin's blue eyes widened, long braided hair both on his head and from his beard flipping as he turned to run-- but Legolas dutifully blocked him, and Thorin turned back, a fear in his face that was less than characteristic to the brash young dwarven prince. Thranduil began to swirl something in his hands again, the previously dim white growing into a brilliant containment of pure light. As it grew in intensity, Bard had to look away, but Thranduil stared right into it, murmuring some elvish words softly.

Thorin's heart beat rapidly. Whatever "lesson" the elf king was about to teach him, it couldn't be good. "Bard!" he shouted, "Help me!"

Bard looked from Thorin to Thranduil in confliction, and finally made a move to stop Thranduil once again, but it was too late-- the light was cast over the dwarf, and with a gasp from him, the light exploded, sending a radiant beam blasting through the trees.

A few moments after the eruption, Bard opened his eyes again, and Thranduil was patting his shoulder, encouraging him to look. What the bowman saw, nearly made him choke.

There, sitting in front of them, was a [wolf](https://img.webme.com/pic/t/the-wolf-clan/wolfpicturesalbum18.jpg) where Thorin used to be.

"Where... did he go?" Bard asked slowly, and Thranduil gave him a self-satisfied smirk.

"Do you not see him, Master Bard?"

Bard swallowed, and turned back to the wolf apprehensively. This... this couldn't be. Bard hardly believed in magic, but... the eyes were the same azure blue Thorin possessed.

"Thorin?" he asked the animal gently, and the wolf suddenly growled, snapping his teeth at Bard's hand. The bowman's lips parted as the creature seemed very distressed by whatever he thought Thranduil just did.

"He will grow used to it." Thranduil seemed utterly indifferent. Suddenly, all of Bard's deeds came rushing to him, and he turned to the blonde elf.

"Thranduil, you said-!"

"I said I would not kill him," Thranduil said sharply, "Now hold your tongue, bowman. I know you still want a prosperous life for your children... and besides," he smiled, "That mouth can easily be put to better use than guilty whining."

Bard was speechless at this, so he just tried to talk to the wolf again. "Is it really you?" The wolf opened its mouth, and Thorin's familiar, albeit shaky voice came out.

"Well, who else would it be, you traitor?"

Bard jumped back, and Thorin tried to look down at himself, failing. "What did he do to me? Elven scum... what is it? Why are you so frightened?" He stopped. "Did you get grow in height?"

"Thorin, you're a..." Bard ran a hand through his hair, unable to even bring himself to realize the reality. Thorin tried to stand, but immediately fell onto... a very hairy stomach. Then he looked down, and in place of his calloused, jewellery adorned hands he found two furry paws.

"BY MY BEARD-!" he shouted, letting out a couple of angry barks, and Bard backed up.

"I didn't know he would--"

"Usurper!" Thorin yelled, and advanced threateningly on Bard, "Snake!" Bard set his jaw, watching the wolf closely. He was closing in on him, so Bard drew his bow... he really, _really_ didn't want to use this--

"Coming?" Thranduil quirked an eyebrow, suddenly appearing behind Bard on his noble elk. Bard gave one last glance Thorin's way, and hopped on the back, holding onto Thranduil's hips.

"Come back here, cowards!" Thorin called, howling.

 _"Who are you calling a coward, mongril?"_ a very nice sounding, smooth female voice asked. Thorin frowned, whirling around.

"Who said that?"

 _"I did,"_ the great white elk replied, inclining its head, _"You seem... strange, wolf."_

"That's because I'm a dwarf, not a wolf!" Thorin replied gruffly in agitation.

"Right," the elk retorted, already starting off down the path to the Woodland Elves' kingdom, "And I'm an all-powerful wizard, darling."

Thorin balked, and looked down at his paws again. There was no way he would let Thranduil get away with this without turning him back-- if he had to tear the bastard's throat out to get it, so be it. But as the prince got up to run after the disappearing couple, he felt a sharp pain in the back of his head as everything went black, and Tauriel regarded the fallen wolf with minor sympathy before dashing off to rejoin the King and his new human boytoy.


	3. Chapter 3

Rain showered over Thorin, matting his hair down. Dammit, no... he had _fur_ now, not hair. Dwarves were a characteristically hairy race, yes, but not even Dwalin, one of Thorin's closest friends back home, was this ridiculously mangy. 

As he headed back the way he believed they came through the woods, Thorin's heart ached for home. He missed every small comfort of it-- waking up in his own bed, walking the golden halls, sharing bread and mead with his friends as Balin told stories and Bofur sang songs. 

Thunder crackled overhead, making an already terrible evening worse. The sun was almost down now, and he still hadn't found Bree-- but then...

He heard laughter and music, and followed the distant sound back to the small village he had left as a dwarf that morning. He soon realized the sounds were coming from the inn, where almost everyone in the town had to be packed in there. Thorin watched in the window of the place, catching himself on impulse wishing he could join their merry party.

Then he saw him.

 _"King Bilbo!"_ they were all shouting, lifting Bilbo up through the crowd, and the hobbit was chuckling, blushing as everyone chanted his name. He had a crown on-- Thorin's thoughts began to race. Was Bilbo noble after all? Did hobbits even _have_ nobility where they were from? That meant he had a chance to take him back to Erebor and show--

Oh. But then, there was the matter of Thorin's state. The wolf paced in front of the tavern, thinking hard about what he could possibly do. He couldn't very well try and find Thranduil again... that would require either weeks without a horse around, or passage through Mirkwood, which was hard enough as a dwarf, let alone an animal he didn't much know how to maneuver as yet.

 _Maybe I could approach Master Baggins..._ Offhand, this seemed like a terrible idea. But the more Thorin thought of it, the more he felt a deep need to figure this out with someone, and Bilbo seemed the best candidate. He _had_ seemed compassionate with him before... maybe he would understand the workings of magic... or something. Besides, he looked especially good tonight, in those brown overalls and loose white shirt. The buttons were undone, and his hair was tousled... the thoughts were less intrusive now, and more depressing, as there was nothing the wolf could do about any of these inclinations until he was a dwarf again.

And that transformation would only take place if he found someone to help.  

So, Thorin waited until the grand ceremony inside the inn began to die down, and watched from the shadows as Bilbo stumbled down the steps, waving to everyone enthusiastically as he headed home. Slinking along the walls, the prince followed the hobbit king to his home; there seemed to be no way in.

Suddenly, Thorin hid as Bilbo opened the door again, and came out to sit on the bench in his garden. Why he was doing this puzzled Thorin... it was night time now, how could a fellow noble-born find any enjoyment in sitting in the dark? But, it seemed Bilbo was managing quite happily as he struck a match and lit his pipe. With a content exhale, Bilbo took the crown he was wearing off, held it in his lap, and smiled.

"Bilbo."

Bilbo's head suddenly jerked up, and he dropped the crown. Squinting out into the darkness that surrounded him, he looked around, but after nothing but silence came, he went back to take another puff from his pipe.

"Bilbo!"

This time, Bilbo choked on the smoke, sputtering as the pipe was dropped. He stood.

"Who's there?" Bilbo set his hands on his hips, surveying his grounds, "Who is that? You've picked the wrong hobbit to meddle with, I'll tell you." He glanced each way with a little frown. "I demand you show yourself, or I'll... "

"You'll what?" Thorin showed himself, walking forward slowly, "Chase me off with a broom, like you did with that orc?"

Bilbo huffed, about to defend himself, then his mouth promptly shut, regarding the creature before him. "Now how did you know that?" Just then, he realized just what he was talking to, and the gravity of it all dawned on him; talking to a wolf and such. "There are... a great... many things very wrong with this situation!" Bilbo finally  blurted, shuffling backward in fear, "Why... are... you... talking? More importantly, why am I talking _to you_?" he muttered, half to himself.

"It's me," Thorin whispered gruffly. Bilbo inclined his head. "Thorin. Thorin Oakenshield."

"Thori-" Bilbo hissed, looking around and recoiling. "Thorin?! My god, no, you're..." His eyes widened. "You're a _skinwalker_ , aren't you? I knew it! All along, that was why you were so antisocial, you were-"

"No, no, I'm a dwarf," Thorin growled impatiently.

Bilbo gave a short, punched out laugh, pointing. "It does not appear so!"

"Will you quiet down, and let me explain?" Thorin whispered sharply. Bilbo blinked a couple of times.

"I'm talking to a wolf. Aha. Ahaha! I'm talking to a wolf." He held up a finger, trying to compose himself... "Nope." He fell over, and Thorin rolled his eyes.

About five minutes later, when Bilbo finally woke back up, the wolf was sitting beside him, irritated. The hobbit rubbed his head.

"Not a dream?"

"Don't I wish?" Thorin muttered, and Bilbo rubbed his eyes, sitting on the edge of his bench.

"Fine. Fine, alright, what's happened, and who's done this to you?"

Thorin sighed, growling. "Thranduil."

"Is that name supposed to mean something to me?" Bilbo asked.

"He's the king of the Woodland Elves. He's cursed me somehow, to be this... _thing_ -"

"Wolf."

"I know what I am!" Thorin barked, and snapped his jaw. "Now I must figure out some way to lift it."

"And why did you come to me?" Bilbo asked, "Hm? I thought you didn't have time for lowly hobbits."

Thorin looked up. "When I spoke to you that night..." he felt the heat rising to his face as he remembered his feelings, "I did not mean to offend you." Bilbo bit his lip. The animal really did look a little crestfallen, so he pushed on.

"Okay, so what am I supposed to do about this?" the hobbit ran a hand through his curls, "I know nothing about magic, or, or _elves_ , or anything of the witchy sort-"

"No," Thorin murmured to himself, something dawning on him. _Of course._ Thranduil would do something like this... no doubt.

"What?" Bilbo groaned.

"The Princess and the Warg."

"Pardon?"

"You're a hobbit, you tell tales around the campfire, don't you?!" Thorin bit.

"Well," Bilbo snapped his suspenders proudly, "I do know a few--"

"I'm not asking you to regale me, Bilbo, I'm asking if you know the tale of The Princess and the Warg!"

"I..." Bilbo blinked, sitting back down on his little bench. "Well, I..." He did recall something of the sort... "Ah, oh, the one about the prince who was turned into a Warg, and had to kiss the princess to become a prince again?"

"That one."

"Yes, it's a nice story," Bilbo nodded, "Told my nephews that story all the time back in the Shire. They loved it, mhmm." Thorin looked at him, long and hard, and Bilbo's smile slowly disappeared. "No. Oh no, no, you're not- you're not thinking of-" By now, the hobbit was blushing deeply, and Thorin would find it amusing if he wasn't so desperate at the moment. Bilbo got up, pacing. "I won't allow it, I'm _sorry_ , I will not be your princess, there will be no kissing wolves today. Not from me." Bilbo was shaking his head adamantly.

"One kiss, and I'll be a prince again," Thorin told him,  "That's all it took in the legend!"

"Oh, why do I get dragged into these things?" Bilbo muttered, placing his hands on his hips in exasperation, "All I wanted was a nice evening, now I've got a wolf talking to me, asking me for a kiss, and--"

"It's not like I wish to!" Thorin protested angrily.

"Oh, I'm quite sure your incessant _staring_ over your ale tells me different," Bilbo scoffed, wagging a finger, "I may be small, but I'm not blind." Thorin swallowed, and if he still had dwarf skin, it would be as pink as Bilbo's right now.

"What of it?" the wolf growled, and Bilbo let out a long exhale of air.

"Look, alright, this... this _kiss_ doesn't have to be long, or... or passionate does it?" Bilbo asked weakly. Thorin smirked.

"Perhaps not in this form. Though, when I am back to my dashing dwarven self, the rest will be up to you."

"Oh, good gracious," Bilbo breathed. "Let's just do this, yeah?" Thorin nodded, and the hobbit glanced around furtively.

"Oh, for Durin's sake, kiss me!" Thorin encouraged, and Bilbo squeezed his eyes shut, moaning to himself as he pressed his lips down against the wolf's. There was a great flash of white, just as there had been when Thorin was turned, then all fell silent.

"Bilbo," Thorin hissed, looking around. "Bilbo?" The hobbit had disappeared. The prince's heart sunk, and just as he was about to launch into full blown misery and start moping again, he caught movement out of the corner of his eye on the ground.

"Now... now why am I down here, and you're all the way up there?!" Bilbo shouted, "And _why_ are you still a wolf?! I told you it wouldn't work!"

"Oh, no," Thorin whispered. Bilbo hadn't lifted the curse and turned him human again-- he had been cursed as well.

"What is it?" Bilbo huffed, "You look as if you've just seen a ghost." Just then, he noticed his feet-- his normally huge, hairy feet were no longer _there_ , instead replaced by little tiny paws. "Ah," he remarked, and fainted again.

Just then, a couple of people exiting the inn after noticing the white flash spotted Thorin.

"Wolf!" someone cried.

"Warg?!"

"No, wolf!"

"Wolf or Warg, it must mean Orcs aren't far behind! Chase it off!"

Soon, a group of people were running toward Thorin and Bilbo, so Thorin picked Bilbo up by the scruff of his tiny neck with his teeth, dashing off into the woods. He kept running until he was sure they were out of danger. Thorin dropped Bilbo into a dirty puddle, spitting out the hair he had in his mouth; suddenly, the former hobbit awoke.

"Your fault!" he shouted, "It is _your_ fault that I'm a-- what am I, a bloody [dormouse](http://www.rspb.org.uk/community/cfs-filesystemfile.ashx/__key/telligent-evolution-components-attachments/00-13609-01-00-00-90-89-75/Dormouse-2013.jpg)?!"

"So it would seem," Thorin replied grimly. "And I am still a wolf."

"I'm sorry, your highness, but I just can't quite seem to bring myself to give a good damn about your condition at the moment!" Bilbo retorted, scampering back and forth across a log. "A mouse... I'm a mouse, oh my--!"

"Relax," Thorin sighed, but Bilbo just stopped, staring up at him.

"Were you relaxed when you realized you were an animal?!" Bilbo shrieked.

"Well, no--"

"I'm never going to get to tend to my garden again," Bilbo fretted.

"Why would you need to tend to your garden?" Thorin wrinkled his nose. "Don't you have servants for that?"

"Servants? I beg your pardon?" Bilbo frowned.

"They called you king in the inn," Thorin said, "I saw, through the window, you were wearing a crown."

Bilbo sputtered. "You thought... you thought I was royalty?!"

"You were being _hailed_!"

"It's my birthday today!" Bilbo shouted, letting out a tight laugh, and plopped down on the tree trunk, shaking his head. "I was the _birthday king!_ And what a _lovely_ birthday it has been." He rolled his eyes.

"I can't believe this," Thorin muttered, "Deceived by my protector, now deceived by a hobbit--!"

"I did not deceive you, you _assumed_ , so I have been nothing but loyal throughout this whole--"

"Do not speak to me of loyalty, you shire rat!"

"Mouse." Thorin let out an agitated bark at this, and went to gnaw on a chunk of wood. "Oh, very princely," Bilbo nodded.

"I'm just practicing, for when I'll have to hunt down our food!" Thorin snapped, "It's not like you have any experience, or the fangs to do so."

"God, why couldn't I have been turned into an eagle or something?" Bilbo muttered.

"It would not become you. Eagles are majestic beasts, and _you're_ not even royalty."

"I may have had a royal or two, back on my mother's side!" Bilbo protested.

"Why am I wasting my time with you?" Thorin grumbled, and turned away, going to walk through the woods alone. Bilbo suddenly paused, blinking a couple times.

"Where... where are you going?"

"To find someone who can help me!" Thorin yelled, "That, or to tear that elven scum's throat out. Whichever I happen upon first."

"That's... ah, I see," Bilbo looked down, then back up, panic shooting through him. "Hey-- wait, you can't-! You can't just leave me! Where am I supposed to go, I'm a dormouse?!"

"You can manage," Thorin muttered, " _Orc-slayer_."

"Ah, will you stop bringing that up?!" Bilbo groaned, "I made it up! It was _completely_ false!"

"I'm not surprised," Thorin shouted back.

"Will you..." Bilbo hopped the log, scampering through all the roots and weeds of the forest, "Come... back?!" Just then, Bilbo let out a scream as a huge bird swooped down, and grabbed him by the tail.

"Bilbo!" Thorin shouted, and ran back, snapping his jaws at the bird. The bird just flew up and over him, carrying Bilbo away into the night. "NO!"

"Oh my god... oh my _god_..." Bilbo whispered, breath almost stolen as he looked down. He was so high up... He could hear the faint shouts of Thorin calling after him, and he could see the wolf running frantically to catch up to the bird. There were so many branches, and god-- if this thing decided to drop him--

Bilbo let out another bloodcurdling scream as he was released from the talons of the creature that had him. Leaf after leaf slammed into his face as he plummeted to the forest floor-- he surely wouldn't survive this. There was no way he could.

Thorin's eyes widened as he barrelled toward where Bilbo would land. Getting there just in time, the little red-haired mouse hit his back, bouncing and rolling down to the ground. Thorin peered down, and gazed at him worriedly.

"Bilbo," he hissed, nosing the mouse. He wasn't breathing. Oh, this was his fault. If he hadn't have selfishly demanded Bilbo kiss him, the tavernkeep would still be a hobbit, and he wouldn't be...

"Thorin..."

The wolf turned around again, eyes lighting up. "Bilbo! You're alright."

"I am..." Bilbo smiled a little, rubbing his back, "Thanks to you."

They shared a silent look of gratitude, then Thorin sighed. "I suppose, master Baggins," the wolf looked down at the traumatized mouse as his chest rose and fell, "It is best we stick together."

They started off down the path through the Old Forest, and got about five steps before Bilbo stopped.

"Wait, stop. Stop! We have to turn around."

"Why, what's the matter?"

"I forgot my handkerchief."

Thorin glared at the mouse, and kept on walking.

* * *

Bard opened his eyes. Thranduil had told him to stay in Bree, and keep an eye on Thorin. He had found the prince almost immediately upon return the night before, and had tied him to the back of the inn, where nobody could get to him.

Getting up, the bowman got dressed, and went out to check on Thorin.

"Good morning," Bard said, rubbing his hands together and tying his hair back as he approached the wolf. No response. The man sighed. He knew Thorin would be stubborn... well, he could very well deal with this. Maybe Thranduil was right; maybe he did deserve a good dose of humility. "I'll bring you out some food," Bard told the wolf, "Then I'm taking you to the Woodland Realm." The wolf just whined.

Later that day, Bard grabbed the make-do restraint on the prince, and began the trek through the Old Forest, around Mirkwood and to Thranduil's kingdom. Legolas let him in, and someone blew a horn as Bard came in through the large golden gates.

"Bard," Thranduil smiled, standing up from his throne. "You have him?"

"Aye," Bard gestured down at the wolf, giving himself something other than Thranduil's form fitting robes to stare at. "He hasn't been talking."

"To be expected," Thranduil huffed, "Stubborn creature." He beckoned for the wolf to approach him, and it stalked over, gazing up at the elf. After a moment of studying the animal, Thranduil frowned. "This is not Thorin."

"What?!" Bard exclaimed, stepping forward in agitation. The silvery blue of Thranduil's eyes were on him again.

"You let him go."

"I didn't!"

"We'll discuss this privately," Thranduil growled, and promptly led Bard down some stairs into a room covered in vines by the dungeons. " _How_ could you let this happen?"

"I thought it was him! There are a lot of wolves in these parts," Bard scowled.

"Did you not check the eyes and see that they were green, not blue?!" Thranduil seethed, and Bard stepped right up to him, clenching his jaw.

"It was an honest mistake."

"And you're nothing if not _honest_ , aren't you, Bard the Bowman?" Thranduil mocked, and Bard glared daggers at Thranduil for five split seconds, before nearly knocking the elf down with the force of a push against the wall. Thranduil looked utterly shocked, but his coming protests were prolonged with a moan as Bard crashed his lips to the elf's. They kissed for a few minutes like this, until Thranduil flipped them so that he was the one pushing Bard against the wall. The elf pinned the man's wrists above his head with a snarl, and almost purred as he admired Bard's open chest. "You don't know what you've started. You'd better find that wolf."

Bard smirked, tearing Thranduil's silver robes, and pulled the blonde flush against him again in another kiss.

"Later."


	4. Chapter 4

"Damn elves."

"Will you kindly stop going on about them for five minutes?!" Bilbo cried. They had been walking for about two days, and the mouse was cold and tired. "It looks like we're in the high east of Eriador, almost through the Trollshaws."

"I'm surprised we didn't run into any trolls," Thorin scoffed. Bilbo stopped.

"You are quite the pessimist, aren't you?" He shook his head. "We've still got to pass through the Misty Mountains."

"Yes. We'll go through Dunland."

"Dun-- are you joking?! I'm not setting foot in Foghorn forest, I'll be taking the long way, thanks."

"I think we've established it's not a good idea to split up," Thorin reminded him. Bilbo huffed a long sigh.

"Thorin, I'm not risking my life in a forest full of death just because you hate elves."

"I have good reason to hate them!" Thorin snapped, "First, they abandon my people when we needed them in the Battle of Moria. Then they do this to me?!"

"Not they," Bilbo said pointedly, "Thranduil."

"Beside the point," Thorin replied gruffly.

"We have to go through Rivendell."

"I will not! They are dishonourable, horrid creatures."

"They are _hospitable_ and will put us up in a nice bed!"

"They won't talk to me."

"Because you won't talk to them!" Just as Thorin was whipping around to retaliate, he missed a branch, and tumbled. Bilbo's eyes widened, and the wolf fell right over top of him, catching himself before he crushed the dormouse.

"I..." Thorin mumbled, and Bilbo cleared his throat.

"Aha. What a predicament..."

They stared at each other, before Bilbo came to his senses first and crawled out from under the bigger of the two, brushing himself off. He sighed again. "Thorin, the elves will listen to me."

"They won't see you," Thorin chuckled. Bilbo tapped his foot, and the wolf growled. "We go through Dunland."

"For the last time, I don't care what it takes, we are not going your way. Rivendell is our only sane option here, if we want to survive this journey. You do wish to survive, don't you?"

Thorin continued to growl, and Bilbo frowned. "Don't growl, it's poor manners. To Rivendell."

"Never!" Thorin barked, and Bilbo wanted to fall onto his back, groaning. How could someone so attractive get on his nerves so much? Bilbo mostly encountered people of his own ilk, pleasant hobbits and such coming through Bree, or a ranger or two passing through on a quest-- but never had he encountered someone as terribly stubborn as Prince Thorin Oakenshield.

Bilbo was a peacekeeper, but in this particular situation, there was no way he would heed a dwarf-wolf-whatever with absolutely no sense of direction. He opened his mouth to argue some more until he got his point across, but was promptly interrupted by the sound of snapping branches.

"Hide," Thorin hissed, and picked up Bilbo again with his teeth, carrying him over into the brush. They waited as the footsteps got closer, and they could soon here the low hum of a song. Soon, the singing voice faltered, and one began to speak in a loud, cheerful voice.

"We've been out here for a week!" one said, "You don't suppose he's just gone home, do ya?"

"I would not put it past him to directly defy his father," the other voice chuckled, "But no, laddie. He's got to be out here somewhere. In Bree, perhaps."

"Aye. To Bree then," the other one said, and resumed his happy tune.

Thorin's eyes narrowed. "I know those voices."

"What?" Bilbo murmured. His little heart was beating rapidly; he couldn't handle orcs or nazguls or what-not, especially in this shrunken form.

"They are my kin!" Thorin suddenly grinned, and leapt out of the bushes.

"Balin! Bofur! It's me, Thorin."

The two dwarves blinked, standing there on the path. Bilbo surveyed them, still hidden behind a leaf; one had a huge moustache with an outrageous hat, and the other was shorter and much older. The former looked playful; the latter looked kindly.

"Beggin' your pardon, Mr. Wolf..." the one with the funny hat said, "But you don't quite have the beard for him."

"You say you are Thorin Oakenshield," the older one said, "Is there any way for you to prove it?"

"Yeah-- what did I give Bombur for the mid-winter festival?" 

"Three wheels of cheese, with a sprig of holly on top," Thorin laughed, and the taller dwarf's eyes lit up as he opened his arms.

" _Thorin_!"

"The moment we heard of your banishment, we set out to look for you," Balin said.

"Eh..." Bofur paused, scratching his head. "What in Durin's name happened to ya?"

"That, I will explain. First, meet my travelling companion-- Master Bilbo Baggins. A hobbit, from Bree."

"Oh, I've always wanted to meet a hobbit," Bofur nudged Balin.

"Aulë is smiling on you, Bofur," Balin sighed with a tight smile.

Out crept Bilbo, smiling slightly and nodding. "Morning, everyone."

Balin raised his eyebrows, and Bofur cleared his throat awkwardly. "Excuse my ignorance, but... that doesn't quite look like a hobbit."

"That's because I got turned too," Bilbo explained, and Thorin nodded.

"Come. I have much to tell."

After the dwarves had set up a nice crackling fire in a shadowed clearing, Balin opened up the conversation.

"So tell us, my boy. How did you come to be in such a predicament?"

"By the treachery of elves," Thorin told him, pointedly staring at Bilbo. Bilbo huffed, and Thorin went on. "I was drawn out by my former travelling companion, and handed over to the mercy of Thranduil's magic like livestock!"

"Despicable," Bofur shook his head.

"Bard?" Balin mused, "Hm. I always found him to be a right lad. A real shame."

"Aye." Thorin turned. "I thought of any way I could turn back... I came to the conclusion Thranduil had cursed me with the very same enchantment the witch did in that old legend."

"Bloody elves and their bloody dark magic," Bofur muttered.

"You wouldn't be referring to the legend of the Princess and the Warg, would you?" Balin asked, raising an eyebrow. Bilbo shuffled around awkwardly as Thorin cleared his throat.

"I... would."

"So, you kissed this fine little mouse here," Balin smiled a little.

"How did you--" Bilbo started.

"I've been on this earth 178 years, laddie. You learn to pick things up."

"We've lived with him for most of those years too," Bofur laughed, "We know when he's smit-"

"Enough!" Thorin snapped, and Bofur nearly knocked himself off his log laughing. "Anyway, I've introduced him," Thorin muttered with a small grunt.

"I am at your service," Bilbo smiled up.

"Balin--"

"--And Bofur--"

"At yours!" The friendly dwarves both smiled back, bowing in turn.

Bofur picked Bilbo up in his hand, and plopped him down on his knee. "Tell me, master hobbit-- is it true you live in holes?" While those two were speaking, Thorin's oldest friend pulled him aside.

"And just what were you doing walking up to a poor hobbit and getting him into this mess?"

Thorin glanced over at Bilbo sheepishly. "I will not deny it. It is my fault this hobbit was cursed as well."

"Well, it's good to hear you say tha-" Balin began warmly.

"--But no matter how polite or charming he is, he wishes to take us through Rivendell, so we _cannot_ listen to him!"

Balin closed his mouth, and sighed. "It's good to see you again, Thorin."

"Balin," Bofur turned suddenly, "Wait just a minute. Thorin needs some powerful magic to turn him back into a dwarf, doesn't he?"

"Aye. That he does, laddie."

Bofur's face lit up. "Don't we know a certain wizard who can help with that?"

"Wizard?" Bilbo asked. He had heard grand stories of wizards-- even told them-- but had never met one; they always seemed like frightfully extravagant beings in his opinion, the type not to cavort with.

Balin began to nod, pointing at Bofur and grinning. "A wizard we need... and a wizard we know. Come along, lads! We're off to visit Gandalf the Grey."

"Gandalf?" Bilbo asked, beginning to feel a little like an echo by now.

"He's a very powerful wizard, my boy," Balin told him, picking up the mouse, "He'll help you. No doubt."

"I trust your instinct," Thorin nodded, "Lead on then, friends."

Bilbo could relax a little now; Balin and Bofur were friends, not enemies. Still, this whole fiasco had his nerves on edge... especially when he was stuck like this with the most beautiful dwarf he had ever seen.

As they trekked onto the Misty Mountains to find the wizard, Bilbo found himself a little more excited than he should be for Thorin to resume his dwarven form.

* * *

Night had fallen. Moonlight cascaded down over the grounds of the Elvenking's Halls in shimmering beams. Bard could never get used to this, even if he tried... it was breathtaking.

"I am?" Thranduil murmured.

Bard smirked. "Mm. Was I speaking out loud?"

"It would appear so," the elf drawled, and slipped a robe on, walking out to the vine-covered balcony of the palace. He had a regal posture, Bard noticed, not at all like his own lumbering gait.

"I meant the view," Bard pointed out, getting up and tugging on his trousers. Thranduil glanced back over his shoulder.

"I am the view."

Bard couldn't disagree with that. He approached the blond elf, then hesitated. Did he snake his hands around Thranduil's waist from behind, or should he resist further defiling royalty?

"Do what you would, bowman," Thranduil breathed, and Bard could hear the smirk. He breathed out, and wrapped his arms around Thranduil, deftly rubbing the elf's hipbone.

"Have you ever slept with a king before?" Thranduil couldn't deny he was attracted to the man, the way his facial hair scratched his soft skin, his muscular arms...

"I haven't," Bard said, "But it was a pleasure."

Thranduil hummed, the vibrations reaching Bard's calloused fingertips. "Yes." He slipped out of Bard's embrace, and sauntered over to pour some wine. He handed Bard a glass, and took a sip of his own, going back out to the edge of the balcony. "I'm not a monster, you know."

Bard was surprised by the statement, but he nodded slowly. "I have come to realize that, aye..."

"Yet so many still do not," Thranduil mused softly, gazing out. Bard could tell this was a rare moment of vulnerability-- he was honoured the elf king was sharing it with him.

"I only really think it's dwarves who dislike you," Bard offered, drinking from his wine, "Us men, we don't really speak ill of you."

"At least you don't," Thranduil said. "You're an honourable man, Bard. Thorin claims that I lack honour, when it was he who robbed me of my wife's gems."

Bard paused. "Your wife?"

"Don't panic," Thranduil muttered sarcastically. Then he got a far off look. "She's dead."

"I lost my wife as well," Bard told Thranduil, "As you can likely imagine with three children of my own. It was a sad day for my family, and all of Laketown when she passed-- she was the love of my life."

"I'm sure she was beautiful," Thranduil whispered, "If your taste in partners is anything to go on."

Bard chuckled a little, and stroked along his glass. "Aye. She was."

Thranduil sighed. "And now, look at us. A king and a future king, seeking solace in one another's arms."

"I wouldn't quite describe it quite so romantically," Bard huffed, recalling the rather rough night they had shared the evening before.

Thranduil finished his wine. "Back when my people were allied with the dwarves, my wife was given white gems by Thorin's father-- crystals and diamonds, purer than light itself-- as a gift of good faith. She wore them constantly-- she had them threaded through her long hair." Thranduil's eyes closed, and Bard reached out to take the blonde's hand. Thranduil accepted the gesture, and took a deep breath. "The battle of Moria was won by the dwarves, and while it is true I did not wish to risk spilling more elven blood than I needed to, Thorin decided to counsel his father to take the gems back. I was furious."

"Understandably," Bard nodded. Thranduil looked at him, eyes wide.

"How can you be so agreeable about what I did, when everyone else would cheer to see me dead?"

"I'm sure Thorin is the only one who would do that," Bard pointed out, and squinted out into the forest. "I'm worried about him. I can't say I regret what we did, but... perhaps he deserved a lesser sentence."

Thranduil's face steeled as he turned heel, swishing his robes behind him. "He deserved it. Besides, there is only one way to reverse the curse I've put upon him."

Bard frowned, following Thranduil back to bed. "What is it?"

Thranduil began to smile.

* * *

The second fire Thorin and company had prepared that day crackled warmly, glowing ashes floating skyward to the stars. Bilbo was snuggled up against a small stone that caught the heat of the flames; Thorin was curled up on the opposite side of the fire, and both had their eyes wide open. Bofur had his arms tossed back as he leaned back against the stump he was propped against, and Balin roasted the last of their meat.

Taking it off the fire, the older dwarf handed some to Bilbo. "Here you are, master Baggins."

Bilbo stared at the scrap of meat, and suddenly felt ill-- he was an animal now, wasn't he? "I'm, eh... fine, thanks," he smiled, and Bofur happily accepted his portion. Thorin lifted his head.

"You should eat. We have a long journey ahead of us, if we are to make it through the Misty Mountains on foot."

"Let the lad be, Thorin," Balin said gently, "He'll eat if he wants to."

"Actually, I found some berries that look quite good," Bilbo said, scurrying over behind the rock to retrieve some fruit he had gathered earlier.

"I would advise against eatin' those, Bilbo," Bofur told him casually, tossing some food into his mouth.

"Why?"

Bofur shrugged. "They're made of pure poison, skin and juice. Eat one of those, and you'll be belly up in seconds."

"Ah," Bilbo replied.

"Melts away your flesh from the insides."

"Mhm."

"Think quick death-- but very, _very_ painful."

"Quite helpful, Bofur," Balin muttered, and Bilbo swallowed nervously.

"On second thought, Balin... I think I'll have some of the meat." Thorin chuckled, watching the little mouse. It was true, he had been hard on Bilbo. Back in dwarven form, his attraction to Bilbo as a hobbit was undeniable-- but could he honestly do anything about it? He was the prince of Erebor. He was supposed to fight great battles and defend the Mountain like his forefathers... hobbits enjoyed the comforts of home, and gardening, and... and warm beds.

_A bed that Thorin wanted to share with him._

But, Thorin thought to himself, exhaling wistfully, Bilbo isn't like other hobbits. He was brave, and selfless, even in the face of death, he kept on and...

"Thorin," Bilbo said, as if he had already repeated the name a couple of times. The wolf blinked. "Would you like the rest of mine? I can't possibly finish anymore." The mouse smiled a little. "I'm just too small." Thorin looked down at Bilbo, and his heart ached.

After eating, they had all relaxed back into their spots. Bofur was whittling a stick and whistling softly, accompanied by the crickets and firebugs nearby, watching them from the trees.

"Balin," he started, "What does love mean to you?"

Balin frowned, looking over at the younger dwarf. "What are you talking about?"

Bofur tilted his head. "Just wonderin' out loud. Clear, amorous nights like these, it makes you think of such things."

Balin considered this, leaning forward. "Love is complicated, I have found. But it is the reward of life's game."

"What about you?" Thorin asked Bofur, "You always talked of marrying every girl in Dale."

"I wasn't that much of a ladies' man," Bofur protested playfully, "You must be thinking of Kili!"

"Aye, you and my cousins were indeed troublemakers," Thorin huffed a laugh. Bofur sighed contentedly.

"Ah, well... love, to me, is a lass you can worship until the end of your days. Someone you can smile with, laugh with, drink with... who shares everything you like and everything fun you want to do." His eyes were kind and they glittered brown; Bilbo could tell why many ladies approached him, if all that Thorin said was true.

The wolf hopped up on the log. "I want a soulmate," Thorin said, "Someone who will love me for all my faults, and stay by my side through it all. That's what I need, anyway." He gazed up at the sky. "Though, I fear, if we are unsuccessful with this wizard, I may never find what I am looking for."

"Why not?" Bofur asked, stopping the twig he was whittling.

"He's a wolf, lad," Balin reminded him.

"Fair point," Bofur replied. "Alright then. Master Bilbo?"

"Hm?"

"It appears to be your turn," Balin smiled. Bilbo sat up.

"Oh! Oh, um..." His mind wandered. "Love... yes, right. Um, you know, I've never given it much thought, really..." He looked around weakly, and saw the dwarves inclining their heads slowly, waiting for an answer. He pursed his lips, and blushed. "Well... I suppose love, to me... seems a little sensationalized. Now, let me explain--" He held a tiny finger up, "something loses its novelty when you dissect it, don't you think?" Thorin looked up in interest. "Love, to me... is simple things. Little things." He looked down, shrugging. "Little things like the looks you share. Or... the way he brushes your hand... or maybe something he said, that you just can't forget." He became distant, before bringing himself back to reality and looking straight at Thorin. "And that is what I want for the rest of my days."

Thorin sucked in a breath. There was no doubt at all in his mind anymore-- he was in love with the hobbit before him. God, he needed to tell Bilbo. He needed to tell him like he needed air to breath. Opening up his mouth, he started to say something... and a great flash of light flashed behind them.

"Thranduil!" Thorin shouted, shaken out of his haze.

"That's no elf," Balin whispered, and they all hid behind the jagged rock that had been protecting their fire from the wind. The aforementioned fire blew out in a gust of air, and a large crack rang through the forest as a staff was brought down.

"What are two dwarves, a talking wolf, and a tiny dormouse doing out here in these parts so far from home?"

Bilbo opened one eye. That didn't sound like any orc. They all rose up from behind their hiding place cautiously, and regarded the tall man in a grey robe with a pointy hat, standing before them. He smiled warmly.

"I am Gandalf the Grey. Is it fair to assume you've been looking for me?"


	5. Chapter 5

Gandalf sat down in his home, inviting his guests to do the same. He offered tea and honey or wine, which was gladly accepted by all (wine for the dwarves, and a tiny cup of sweet tea for Bilbo to lap out of).

"Now that that's all settled... what seems to be troubling you?" Gandalf asked, striking a match to his pipe. Bilbo whined a little, jealous of the wizard's ability to possess such a luxury.

"I'm afraid it's a doozy," Balin said, "Our two furry friends here, Bilbo and Thorin... have been turned into creatures by elvish magic."

Gandalf sat back, humming to himself in thought. He puffed on his pipe a few times, then raised his eyebrows. "You wouldn't happen to mean... Thorin Oakenshield, of Erebor?"

"Aye, Gandalf," Bofur nodded grimly, "That's the charmer."

Gandalf nodded curtly. "I see your difficulty." He then looked over at the wolf. "Thranduil, I presume, has done this to you?"

"How did you know?" Thorin asked.

"Everything dastardly that happens to dwarves in these parts is because of that elven king," Gandalf grumbled.

"Yes, well... we were hoping you could help us," Bilbo stepped forward. Gandalf bent down and picked him up, giving his tiny head a stroke.

"Yes? And how might I do that, Master, eh..."

"Bilbo Baggins," Bilbo smiled. This Gandalf was an agreeable fellow... and whether he wanted to admit it or not, it felt really good to be scratched there.

"He's a hobbit," Bofur informed him, "Or he should be."

"I see," Gandalf's eyebrows shot up again, and he placed Bilbo on a wooden table. "So Thorin and Company came to me to change you back."

"We will forever be at your service, Master wizard," Thorin said, trying his best to bow but falling head over heels in his attempt. Bofur started to stifle laughs, but Bilbo helped Thorin up by nudging his paws.

"As you can see, we are in dire need of help. Would you be so kind?" Balin offered finally, and all four stared at Gandalf hopefully. The wizard pondered a little more and sat down before letting out a long, troubled sigh.

"I'm afraid it is not possible."

"What?" Thorin asked, panic rising again.

"I would change you back in a heartbeat, Thorin Oakenshield... if I could."

"Was Thranduil's magic really that powerful?" Bilbo asked, face etched with disappointment.

"Elven enchantment is strong indeed, Master Baggins..." Gandalf mused, "but that is not what plagues me. You see... Saruman the White, another great wizard and former friend of mine, is now in league with the dark forces."

"No," Balin breathed, "Oh, no..."

"W-Whose... dark forces might these be?" Bilbo asked, looking around at everyone, but Gandalf shook his head.

"Another qualm for another time. But Saruman and I had a skirmish not two years ago that left me without my powers... I'm afraid I'm not much of a wizard any longer, so it would seem."

"This is it, then?" Thorin asked bitterly, "We've come all this way just for our quest to come to an end because a supposedly great wizard is nothing but a powerless old man?"

"Thorin!" Balin hissed.

"I would wager I have more power in me without my staff than you ever will, Oakenshield," Gandalf replied to the wolf. "Of that I am certain."

"Forgive me," Thorin sighed, and went off to sulk. Bilbo watched after him, sighing as well, and Gandalf just shook his head.

"No need." Bilbo turned back to Gandalf, gently tugging at the bottom of his grey robes.

"Is there really nothing you can do?"

Gandalf picked him up again, and considered something. "Well, master hobbit... there may be last hope for you and your prince." The way he said _'your'_ prince with a twinge of a smirk made Bilbo quirk his head, but the smile soon disappeared.

"Oh please," Bofur came forward, "Anything."

Gandalf nodded decidedly. "I believe I have seen a case like this one. Many, many years ago, of course... I assume you tried the fairy tale way, yes?" Thorin muttered something, and Bilbo blushed. "Yes, well to remedy this, it is certain that you must return to your homeland."

"Mine?" Bilbo asked.

"The first to bear this curse," Gandalf told him softly, shifting his gaze to Thorin.

"Return to Erebor?" Thorin asked, suddenly resistant, "I... cannot return there. My father, he... does not wish to see me again until I get an honest job."

"He was thrown out of the kingdom," Bofur filled in, ever so helpfully. Bilbo frowned. This was the first he was hearing of this.

"And would you have, as you say... found an honest job, if you had remained a dwarf?" Gandalf asked. Bofur outright laughed at that, and Thorin glared at them both.

"I was looking for a noble to bring back and marry. If I had done that, my father would have seen I cared for more than just the treasure under the mountain." Bilbo blinked at this. That was why Thorin was in Bree... he was banished, and looking for someone to take back home with him. He wondered idly, then, who his travelling companion had been. He had never really been brought up in conversation.

"Go on, please," Balin urged.

"You must all return to Erebor, whereupon the last light of Durin's Day will shine upon you, and you shall transform back to your dwarven, hobbit selves."

Bilbo and Thorin hesitated, and slowly looked at one another.

"Are you saying..." Thorin started.

"We didn't _need_ to kiss in the first place?!" Bilbo cried up. Gandalf chuckled, eyes glittering in amusement.

"My dear Bilbo... that is exactly what I'm saying."

They both swallowed, still looking at each other.

"Rivendell will be your safest option for return," Gandalf informed them, and Bilbo whirled around.

"Here we go."

"I will _not_ -"

" _If_ you do not wish to pass through Rivendell, there is an alternative," Gandalf cut in, and stroked his chin. "A very dear friend of mine may be able to aid you on your journey."

* * *

"You must find him. Ensure he doesn't make it back to Erebor before the last light," Thranduil growled. Bard and Legolas stood before him in his halls.

"Would you have us bring him back here?" Legolas asked his father. Thranduil considered this.

"I suppose that would be safest for us. Tauriel, prepare a cell. Go, then. Waste no time."

They turned, but Bard glanced back at the elf. Thranduil shared a look with him, a look that confused Bard. This whole _situation_ confused Bard. What was he to the elf king? What was Thranduil to Bard? A lover? Just a lover?

This wasn't the time to get complicated feelings. Everything else in his life was complicated right now, he didn't need to add romantic attraction to the King of Mirkwood to that pile.

"I..." Legolas said, startling Bard out of his thoughts. "I'd like to apologize."

"Oh?" Bard asked, "For what?"

"Knocking you out and kidnapping you," Legolas replied. Bard nodded.

"Aye, I suppose that one's worth an apology. Consider yourself forgiven."

Legolas nodded, and they continued to walk. "You've made my father happy."

Bard looked over, frowning slightly. "What?"

Legolas stared straight ahead. "He's different. He looks... happier. More relaxed, that is."

"Oh," Bard nodded, "Well, I'm glad I could be of service." Legolas stopped.

"That's... not what I meant."

Suddenly, a loud screeching noise rang out, and Legolas' face took on a grim expression.

"Cingwins."

"What?" Bard cried, readying his bow. Legolas sighed, flipping that his back was to Bard's and his bow was ready as well.

" _Spiders_."

Just then, about ten enormous spiders broke through the trees, rushing at them, and Bard's eyes widened. He'd never seen anything like these before. One came running at him, and he shot in the leg, effectively maiming it. Behind him, Legolas took out two with one arrow, then shot one right between the eyes.

"Where do they come from?!" Bard shouted back.

"Deep in the woods," Legolas replied, shooting another as it squealed horribly, "They serve the dark lord!"

"Who?!" Bard yelled, but he was suddenly picked up by one, and spun into a web. He saw Legolas through the cobweb he was bound in jumping from spider to spider, leaping up and grabbing this one's leg. Bard was dropped, and hit his back on a stump. He groaned, and rolled over. A smaller spider inched above him, and Bard let out a breath, wondering if this was it. _He had done this for his children... would_ _he ever see them again?_

Just then, in a spout of blood all over him, the spider was speared by Legolas, and tossed aside. He was helped up, and he began to tear the web off of himself. Around him, Bard observed all the dead bodies of the spiders Legolas had just massacred.

"You're good."

"You're not," Legolas replied with the closest thing the emotionless elf could ever bear to a smile. Bard brushed himself off.

"Excuse me, but I've killed bigger things than that."

"What?" Legolas almost scoffed.

"Siege of Laketown, ten years ago when my home was destroyed," Bard told him, "A dragon." Legolas turned sharply, with a look of respect and even a hint of admiration in his eyes.

They kept walking-- a little worse for the wear, but still in one piece.

* * *

The forest Thorin and Company were currently holed up in was facing a torrential downpour-- they were glad they didn't have to make the trek back alone. Bard had known so many easy passageways through the Misty Mountains, but this group...

Thorin looked at Balin and Bofur, who were huddled in on themselves in wait, and then he looked down at Bilbo, who looked like a drowned rat... not too far off.

"Where is this fellow?" Thorin boomed, "Gandalf told us to stop at the fourth oak down the westward path. We've been here for--!"

Just then, the sound of a great approach could be heard, and a bunch of rabbits suddenly burst out of the trees, revealing someone riding a land raft of some sort at the back.

"Radagast the Brown, at your service!" the short wizard introduced with a friendly smile, "You must be my travelling companions."

"We are," Thorin growled.

"What did I tell you about growling?" Bilbo muttered.

"Apologies for the inconvenience!" Radagast explained fretfully, "I was held up in my cottage-- my favourite hedgehog had a chill, you see, and I was tending to her." Everyone stared at the wizard blankly, before he beckoned. "Come, come! I'm told you must make it to Erebor by the last light, and the Misty Mountains, where I must leave you, are still a ways!"

So, they joined Radagast on his sled, and the rabbits shot off at incredible speed toward their destination.

About a day of exhausting, painfully uneventful (save for Radagast's god-awful singing and random spewing of animal facts) travel later, Thorin, Bilbo, Balin, and Bofur were let off by the kindly wizard.

"This, my friends, is as far as my hares will take me," Radagast said, and nodded to them. "I wish you all the luck in your travels."

Thorin nodded back, and turned with his companions. "So... onto the Misty Mountains."

Bilbo looked about nervously. He had never been this far from Bag End... these mountains looked dangerous.

"Frightened?" Thorin asked, and Bilbo stuck his chin out as if to argue with the smug wolf. Then he realized he didn't have the energy for it, and simply deflated.

"Yes."

Thorin looked down at him. "Don't be," he replied softly, and picked him up, carrying him.

Balin and Bofur hung back, watching the two.

"Who do y'think'll make the first move?" Bofur whispered.

"Let them be, Bofur," Balin said, though not without a smile, "It'll happen when it's meant to."

Up ahead, Thorin carried Bilbo until they had made a clear passage through the mountain. It took the better part of the day, but near sundown, they had almost reached the end of the mountain trek.

"I didn't know you were banished from your home," Bilbo remarked quietly after hours of comfortable silence. Thorin set him down, and tilted his head.

"That is because I did not tell you."

Bilbo shrugged. "Fair enough. But you thought I was a king... and you thought to bring me home to your father."

"Aye," Thorin admitted, "But you are no king."

Bilbo looked down a little at this, but Thorin nudged him. "I meant no disrespect. I don't mind."

"You don't mind that I'm not a king?" Bilbo asked in amusement, "Well, that's a relief."

Thorin broke into a smile as well, and that unfamiliar feeling returned. Being this close to Bilbo for the entire quest had been nothing less than enjoyable... so why couldn't he shake these jitters?

"Are you feeling alright?" Bilbo asked.

"Hm?" Thorin murmured.

"You looked a little faint, that's all."

"I'm... I'm," Thorin swallowed. He wanted to say he was fine, but the truth was... he had no idea how to put his feelings into words. He could honestly say he loved the little mouse-- or the hobbit-- before him. "Bilbo?" he breathed.

"Mm?" Bilbo smiled up at him. Thorin felt his heart would pound out of his chest if he waited any longer.

"Remember all those things you said about love?"

Bilbo nodded slowly. "I do, yes... why?"

"That sounded... nice," the wolf cleared his throat. Bilbo laughed a little, a merry sound.

"Well, it's just what I... Thorin, why have you stopped?"

Thorin clenched his jaw, and extended a paw. "These past few days have helped me realize..." he looked up at the sky. "I don't care if you're not a king. I don't care if you work at an inn, or sit in the garden in the middle of the night when you should be sleeping. I don't care if you want to stay in or go out on an adventure or whatever may please you-- when we're restored to our original form, Bilbo Baggins... will you be mine, so that I may forever share in these experiences with you?"

The wonder in the mouse's eyes made it all worth it for Thorin (and Bofur and Balin). Bilbo felt tears gathering.

"Thorin," Bilbo said softly, a lump in his throat as he forced himself not to break down, "I didn't..." he exhaled, "I didn't expect you would... mmm..." He couldn't believe it. Not at all. Yet... here he was, the dwarven prince, standing before him and asking for his hand.

_If nasty old Lobelia Sackville-Baggins could only see him now. She could keep his silver spoons-- he had all he ever wanted right here._

Sure, he valued home, and the life he had so painstakingly built... but there was no way he could refuse. Not at all.

"N-nothing..." Bilbo inhaled and wiggled his nose to prevent tears, but they came anyway, damned things. "--Would make me happier." Thorin let out a noise of ecstatic relief, and the two embraced as best they could in this form.

"Oh good," Bofur grinned behind them, rubbing his gloved hands together, "Leave the wedding preparations to me."

A few more steps for the four of them, and the kingdom of Erebor was revealed in all its majesty under twilight skies. Seeing it again inspired hope within Thorin once more... he didn't need a nobleman to show off to his father when he returned to his dwarven form-- he knew his father would accept whoever could steal his son's heart in such a way.

He felt a stab of guilt. The last time he had spoken with his father, they had been shouting at each other. Over what? _Gold_. He huffed softly. Such a petty grievance now, it seemed. The way he would've protected his treasure months ago, he would now protect his husband to be... little Bilbo.

_The precious arkenstone to his throne._

He couldn't wait to present him proudly to Thrain, and bend the knee in search of forgiveness. Knowing his father, he would give it willingly, and tales of this miraculous escapade will be told over a great supper. Then, together they would plot some way to bring Thranduil-- and Bard-- to justice.

"The lonely mountain," Balin nodded, regarding it. The starlight shone above them. 

"It's beautiful..." Bilbo marvelled.

"It's home," Thorin smiled, scooting Bilbo closer to him with his paw.

* * *

Approaching the city of Dale, the Company was road-weary but in high spirits. Thorin's confession to Bilbo had brought them all to smiles... until they caught the tail-end of a conversation on the bustling street.

 _"When is the funeral?"_ an elderly man asked a younger woman.

 _"They say it is to be within the fortnight,"_ the younger woman told him.

 _"A very sad day for all of us that will be_ ," the older man sighed.

_"Indeed, grandfather. Thrain was a benevolent king-- songs will be sung of his bravery and wisdom, no doubt."_

_"Brave, aye. But just couldn't beat the sickness that took him in the end."_

_"His life was long, and prosperous."_

_"Mm. I wonder where that son of his has found himself now... a promising boy, he seemed to be. Who would it pass on to now, then? That trustworthy Bard fellow, eh?"_

The conversation trailed as the two headed on their way down the cobble path, but Thorin had heard enough... as had the others.

"Oh dear," Balin said quietly, "Oh, no." Bofur's head was also hung beside the older dwarf's, and he removed his hat, placing it over his heart.

"What's going on?" Bilbo asked, disturbed by everyone's sudden drop in mood. He went to approach Thorin, who simply slunk out of his reach. "W-what's... what's happened?"

"The king, my lad," Balin said sadly, gazing at the mountain that overlooked the hills of the city, "Is dead."


	6. Chapter 6

"You know, you're not as cold as your father," Bard smiled at Legolas. The elf turned slightly.

"I think you'll find there's a lot about me that differs from my father." Legolas pursed his lips, cocking his head. "Why did you choose to help him?"

Bard kept walking on ahead, figuring there was no reason not to be plain with the elf. "My children. If I become king of Erebor, they'll want for nothing." Legolas narrowed his eyes.

"You'd do all this for your children?" Bard nodded. "...I fail to see why."

Bard smirked, huffing a laugh. "Maybe you're not as _warm_ as I had thought." He shook his head at the bewildered blonde. "Their whole life, I've always wanted to give them something more. They're good kids... they never ask for it, but as a father, you want to give them everything." He glanced over. "I'm sure Thranduil wants to give you everything."

"I'm not a child," Legolas said curtly.

"You're still his son," Bard countered. Legolas thought for a minute, clearing some brush out of their way as they trekked through the mountain passes.

"There's no desire in you for ruling, then?"

"It will not bring me any great pleasure," Bard answered slowly, "But while Thrain was a much better king than I'll ever be, Thorin would bring ruin to Dale and the surrounding kingdoms. I can't let that happen." Legolas finally seemed to understand.

"You're an honourable man, bowman."

"Why does everyone keep saying that?" Bard laughed, "I brought the dwarf I was sworn to protect to his enemies and let them turn him into a _wolf_."

Legolas considered this. "I once murdered someone for touching my bow."

Bard sighed. "Well... it's a good thing I've got my own, then."

They walked on for a while still, until they made it over the mountains and onto the overlook of Dale.

"We're almost in town," Legolas said, "We need to disband, before anyone sees us together."

"Aye. Solid idea," Bard nodded, and the two parted ways, taking different ways into the city. Once in, they began to search.

* * *

The sunlight of the holiday was waning. Last light was coming quickly, but Thorin wasn't concerned with its approach at the moment.

"The last time I ever saw him, I mocked his wisdom," Thorin whispered. Bilbo nuzzled up beside him. The mouse could do little else; words, at this point, were futile-- there was nothing he, or anyone, could say to make the prince feel better. "Now with me like this and him gone, who will rule? An advisor from the realm of men, with no claim to the throne?"

"We'll be turned back tonight!" Bilbo protested.

"Not in time, laddie," Balin said, "They'll be choosing a new king today."

"It's wrong," Bofur shook his head, "A _dwarf_ has been sitting under the mountain for thousands of years, and so should a dwarf sit there now!"

"Aye. But his reign should have been longer... I should have been at his side when he died," Thorin roared, breaking away from them and digging his claws into the dirt, "I should have been with him!"

"You'll be with him at the tombs," Balin told him somberly. He was the only one who could ever really get through to Thorin. Bilbo almost felt like an outsider. He knew of King Thrain, but he certainly didn't know him well enough to grieve as much as Thorin.

"Well... has anyone seen this Bard fellow around?" Bilbo interrupted, setting his paws on his hips and standing on his hind legs. "Hm? If he's not here, we still have time."

Thorin laughed bitterly. "Bilbo, he could be anywhere."

"Then why hasn't the coronation happened yet?" Bilbo crossed his arms. The wolf paused, and looked around at everyone. "Let's get to the mountain," the mouse continued, "And once the last light of Durin's Day hits us, we'll return to our rightful selves, and you'll claim your rightful place under the mountain!"

Thorin stared at him, and sighed. "We do as the hobbit says." A small, albeit sad, smile graced the wolf's face, and Bilbo hopped on his back as the four began to travel toward the lonely mountain.

Bard and Legolas had regrouped at the base of Erebor.

"There's no sign of Thorin," Legolas informed the man of his lack of findings.

Bard's eyes were worried. "If we don't find him and he turns back, everything Thranduil has cast will be undone. The coronation must happen soon."

"Then we wait. They may not have even made it back."  

Bard reluctantly nodded, and sat down as Legolas perched on a rock. Minutes went by, and suddenly, they noticed the shadows overtaking the rock.

"I hear no cries of welcome from the people of Dale," Bard murmured, "Perhaps you were r-"

 _"Up here!"_ they heard, and turned, ducking behind a large piece of rock to watch a wolf and two dwarves climb the path up the mountain.

"What's on his back?" Bard asked quietly, frowning.

"A creature of some sort," Legolas replied, squinting. Bard rolled his eyes.

"Thank you for your wisdom."

"Follow them," Legolas hissed, and Bard nodded, rushing forward and beginning the climb.

Up on the face of the mountain, Bilbo tried not to look over the edge of the cliffs as they climbed. He was already frightened of heights, and after that stint with the eagle, the phobia wasn't particularly soothed on this journey.

"We're here," Thorin said, and waited. They waited for moments, which turned into the better part of an hour. The sun was just going over the hills, and Bilbo spoke up.

"The moon. The last light is the moon."

"Aye," Balin chuckled, "I made that mistake many years ago... but that's another story for another time."

"There it is," Bofur said, pointing up. Through the parting clouds, they could see the shimmering beams of moonlight descending upon them. Balin and Bofur stepped back, waiting... Thorin held Bilbo close, and Bilbo felt his heart jumping out of his chest. He could hardly wait to resume his hobbit form.

"Has it happened yet?" Thorin asked, "I don't feel any different."

Bilbo opened his eyes, which he hadn't even realized were squeezed shut. "Nothing's happened. We haven't changed."

By now, they were in full line of the moonlight... yet, still, the beams did nothing but shine against Thorin's silky black fur, and glint in Bilbo's big eyes.

"Oh dear," Balin whispered, tilting his head up in silent prayer. "Not two kings in one day..."

"I..." Thorin swallowed, looking down at his tiny companion, "I do not understand... Gandalf said...."

Bilbo blinked away tears. "He said the last light of Durin's Day. We're in the light, Thorin, we're standing in it." He was normally the optimistic one, as everyone knew, but there seemed to be no hope left... and why waste hope when he would be needing it now more than ever?

Thorin sat down, and stared out at the city before him; the city that he would have ruled over. But as he considered-- truly considered-- standing there, gazing out over his people as they cheered for him, he began to realize how empty he would feel without the companion he had come to know so closely-- his betrothed, now. He looked down at Bilbo once again. This hobbit-- this _mouse_ \-- was the only creature who could fill the gap.

 And the only one that ever would.

Bard climbed as fast as he could up the trail, narrowly avoiding rocks that had been dislodged by the company that preceded him. He had to get to Thorin before whatever cryptic cure Thranduil had smiled on about got to him first.

He thought of Thranduil's smile, and how he would get to see it every time they and the dwarves of the Iron Hills got together for diplomacy meetings. Then, perhaps afterward, once Thranduil had relaxed after a long journey from Mirkwood in a milk bath, they would retire to his chambers, and once the kids were asleep--

Bard shook his head. He had to focus and be concise. Still... despite imagining his lover in all future scenarios of his own kingdom, it pained him to imagine the great dwarven prince he had once served in his current form for the rest of his life...

"What is it?" Bilbo asked from their higher perch, sniffing. He could feel Thorin's eyes on him. He just wouldn't stop _staring_ , most likely boring holes into him, and he could feel his own emotions begin to bubble up beyond all control.

"It's just that... you're usually the one with the words of encouragement," Bofur managed with a weak half smile. Bilbo directed his gaze over, and stood there for a second incredulously.

"Yeah. Look, I know you all are disappointed, expecting another bout of good pick-me-ups from me. _But what's there to be optimistic about this time, Bilbo, eh?_ That's what you're going to ask me. And the truth is, I have no idea! I have no bloody idea, alright?! I never did!" Bilbo was shouting now, glaring at Thorin and the two surprised dwarves. "I may be the best-travelled hobbit of my ilk, but it's because I travelled two towns over! Two towns, my god! What a _wordly_ fellow I am! Or should I say mouse? I don't know the slightest thing about magic, yet there I was, enchantment and all, taking advice from a wizard-- sorry, ex-wizard-- who was obviously stuffing something _very_ strong indeed into that pipe of his-- to try and turn me back." He shook his head. "I offer you all my sympathies for the passing of your king." He looked from face to face earnestly as his rant continued. "Truly, I do. But I don't know how to say this... we now, very well may be honestly and wholly f-"

"Do you ever shut up?" Thorin growled, and bent down, touching his lips to the mouse's. Bilbo let out a little squeak, muffled by the force of Thorin's kiss, and before he knew it he found himself in the wolf's arms, being held up as they shared their passionate-- and rather impossible, by all standards of nature-- embrace.

Bard stopped at the end of the path, lips parting slightly as he took in the scene before him. He tried to will himself to move... to pull the bow and arrow on them... but not a muscle in his body moved as he watched the pair, warmth spreading through him as he began to smile.

Bofur wiped a tear away. "Ah, Balin. Can you see them? The figurative sparks are flying."

Balin's eyes were wide. "Those sparks are not figurative."

The two dwarves gasped as a great light shone around Bilbo and Thorin, almost blinding them. Glimmers of light settled in the air all around them as a flash burst, and left in the place of the black and grey wolf was the handsome, strong-jawed dwarf prince, locked at the lips with no longer a mouse, but the redheaded hobbit he fell in love with.

"Bilbo," Thorin breathed, stroking a curl out of the shorter's brown eyes.

"Good evening," Bilbo broke out in a smile, and they kissed again, Thorin pulling him taught against his body. The hobbit broke away. "It must have been a combination of the last light and the kiss... but if the legend was true, why did we turn back? I'm not a prince, or... or a king."

"You became one the day you agreed to be mine," Thorin smiled, and it dawned on Bilbo, the little hobbit's eyes widening as they buried themselves in each other's arms once again.

"Well, your highness," Bard whispered, feeling the defeat in his bones as he leaned against the side of the mountain, "It appears you've learned that lesson."

"Bard?" Balin suddenly noticed, and Thorin's attention was immediately drawn. The bowman righted his posture, and bent the knee.

"I... come for justice."

"You have the nerve to demand justice of me, when you--!" Thorin began to snap, but Bilbo put a hand on his arm as Bard spoke again.

"My own."

Thorin softened a little, and looked at Bilbo, who gave him a meaningful stare.

"Accompany us to the throne room," he finally murmured, "Your fate will be decided there."

Bard followed as Balin and Bofur hugged and congratulated Bilbo and Thorin.

"You're cute for a hobbit!" Bofur wacked Bilbo on the shoulder. "Didn't expect you to be this easy on the eyes."

"Thank you?" Bilbo frowned, and Balin put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing.

"So you've gone and done it! Accomplished the impossible, laddie."

"And what's that?" Bilbo smiled.

"Made Thorin _feel_ something," Balin mumbled in Bilbo's ear, and Thorin whipped around in warning. As Balin began to smile, Thorin couldn't help but laugh with them as they all made their way into the mountain. From a ledge above, Legolas watched the company closely... once they had disappeared inside the halls, he dashed off to find a good riding horse.

* * *

 

That very day, there was a coronation as grand as Thror's himself, and Thrain after him. Bilbo still couldn't believe he had become a king himself... he admired how kingly his husband looked in the crown, sitting atop his rightful throne as everyone rejoiced. Unlike his forefathers, though, Thorin's coronation had an air of lingering melancholy.

"I sit here today not by my wish or to any great joy. I sit here in light of the tragedy of my lord father's death." He swallowed, and Bilbo noticed the glistening of tears in Thorin's  blue eyes. He made the effort to stroke over the dwarf's hand, standing dutifully beside his husband as Thorin continued his speech. "Thrain was loved by all... he deserved to rule for decades upon decades to come." He looked up. "But the gods saw fit to take him from us... without so much as a goodbye." He added the last part, Bilbo knew, from his heart... he would tear up as well if he wasn't careful. "But Thrain was mighty, and so he shall be in the journey through the afterlife-- just as Durin was!" He raised a fist, and all of the people of Dale and Erebor cheered with him. "There shall be a humble feast tonight, but in honoring my father's memory, the grand feast for my crowning will be postponed for a fortnight. We must first observe our dead, before we usher in the new era."

On the other side of the throne, Balin, who had been named new Hand of the King under the mountain, wiped away his own tears. Thorin had grown up from the arrogant boy who was banished months ago... there was no doubt.

"A glass to Thrain, son of Thror!" Kili shouted out, standing with a mug, and everyone in the halls shouted Thrain's name with him. When Kili had taken his sip, he turned, lifting it his cousin's way proudly. "And a cheer to our kings... Thorin Oakenshield, and master Bilbo Baggins!"

"Make that Bilbo _Oakenshield_!" Fili stood to correct, and the brothers sniggered together as Bilbo and Thorin gazed at each other among the cheering. Bofur, Bombur, Bifur, Oin, Gloin, Ori, Nori, Dori, and Thorin's cousins all sat at the very front, making the most noise-- but Thorin expected no less. Once the shouts and celebration had quieted down to a lull, Thorin beckoned with one hand.

"Now... Bard the Bowman, former hand of Thrain. Step forward."

Bard looked around at the court full of people, and then up to Thorin on his throne. He did as he was commanded, kneeling at Thorin's feet.

"You served my father well, and me for a time. For that..." he turned to Bilbo, who was squeezing his hand and nodding in encouragement. "...I am eternally grateful. Despite your service..." he sighed, "In light of recent events, I am forced to--"

Just then, the doors of the halls burst open, and in rode Thranduil. He was riding his elk, hair sweeping behind him in his grand manner as he trotted right through the crowds and up to the king.

"How _dare_ you come into my halls, witch?!" Thorin boomed, standing from his throne and clenching his fists, "I should have you in chains... alas, I don't wish to start a war my first _hour_ as king!" Bilbo grimaced. There was no amount of grooming he could do on his husband for this one. Thranduil regarded Thorin, then looked down at Bard, who remained kneeling. Bard was looking back at him, giving him the plainest _'what the hell'_ face he could.

"I believe you have something of mine," Thranduil called up to Thorin, smooth voice echoing throughout the mountain halls. By now, the entire court had fallen dead silent. Thorin scoffed.

"Is that so?" he blinked. "If this is about the gems--"

"It is not," Thranduil cut the dwarven king off, and Bard knit his eyebrows. The elf was surely going to get himself beheaded for this... why would such a proud being come back?! Just then, he was shocked out of his concerns as Thranduil dismounted, and knelt alongside Bard in front of Thorin. "It appears, your highness... you have my bowman."

Bard gasped audibly, and even Thorin looked a little taken aback. Bilbo's fist flew up to cover his mouth-- the poor hobbit didn't know how to feel, amused or amazed.

"I..." Thorin stuttered. He watched the two kneeling before him. Thranduil had recognized him as king... but what of the spell? The transformation?!

"You're not still thinking of punishing him, are you?" Bilbo whispered in Thorin's ear, and Thorin could hear the smile.

"I had to lick myself clean for months because of that creature, kneeling or not," Thorin grumbled back, crossing his arms. But he turned, exhaling through his nose. "You want him? Why?" Bard immediately snapped his head back to look at the blonde again, his eyes wild with the same question of _'why'_ with a likely addition of _'have you gone mad'_?

"Legolas told me everything," Thranduil whispered to Bard, then rolled his eyes from the man up to Thorin, and pursed his lips. "Those gems poisoned my heart for most of my life with jealousy and rage for you and your people Oakenshield. But what's dead is dead..." He looked at Bard, and his piercing eyes softened. "Who's dead is dead." Bard clenched his jaw, feeling a lump form in his throat. "And what is right in front of me in this moment is more precious than a thousand jewels of pure starlight."

The crowd gasped, and Bard ducked his head.

"Leave it to Thranduil, great silver tongued Elven King, to upstage my proposal at my own coronation," Thorin scowled, pattering his fingers along his throne, and Bilbo placed a sympathetic kiss to his cheek as they both turned back. Thorin stood once more. "So, what, Elf King? You think you can walk into my halls and profess your love for this traitor, and all will be well?"

Both Thranduil and Bard looked back at the dwarf in surprise. Suddenly, justice was interrupted once again as a little girl came running forward through the supposedly barred doors.

"Da!" she screamed, and Bard's face lit up even more as he opened his arms.

"My love!"

"Da!"

_"Da!"_

Two more children came out, and tackled Bard. Thorin threw his arms up as Bilbo and Balin watched on in stifled amusement.

"I missed you so much, my darling," Bard breathed into his children's hair, and they all squeezed tight to each other. The youngest, Tilda, looked up at Thranduil.

"Your hair is nice."

"Your dress... isn't repulsive," Thranduil replied, not cracking a smile until Tilda giggled and hugged him too.

"I thought I commanded someone to keep his children away for the time being as I carried out his sentence!" Thorin growled. But as he watched the bowman and his sworn enemy hugging the children before him, he suddenly realized it: Bard had done what he did for them. That's the only reasonable explanation for it. And, along the way, he happened to fall in love as well... but Thorin couldn't very well condemn him for that, of course.

Finally, as Thorin watched thoughtfully in silence, Thranduil stood, brushing off his gown and inclining his head. "Let your first order be one of mercy, your highness. You were wronged..." he bit down on his tongue, and his nostrils flared as he closed his eyes. "Will you..." Bard nudged him, Tilda in one arm with his other two children beside him. Thranduil growled a little, but huffed. "Will you... find it in yourself to pardon us?"

"Both of you?" Thorin asked.

" _Yes_."

The dwarf king thought for a second... he wanted to punish them, after all they had put him through-- he wanted their punishment to be good and ruthless, to make up for the time he had lost as a wolf. Then after a few more seconds of thinking, the image of Bilbo's wrath if he refused them mercy came into view in his mind's eye, and he swallowed. "You will both return to Mirkwood. I will hear no more of it."

Bard looked around. "I shall as well?"

"What?" Thranduil smirked at the man, already mounting again, "You didn't think I'd leave without my _prize_ , did you?"

Bard balked as he caught Thranduil's bedroom eyes, and the crowd was satisfied once again, everyone breaking off to eat and drink and chat about the glorious turn of events after the tragedy.

Bilbo turned to Thorin at the throne, and Balin patted their backs.

"I'll leave you to it, my kings," the old dwarf smiled, and joined his brothers down the steps in their songs and Bofur's regaling of their adventure.

"May I just say..." Bilbo started, fingering a piece of Thorin's long, luscious hair, "That I am utterly overjoyed you're not a wolf anymore?"

"Who says I'm not?" Thorin grinned, snapping his jaws with a dark chuckle full of promises. Bilbo's eyebrows shot up.

"Oh... _oh_!" he cleared his throat, and looked around. "W-Well... well, it is our wedding night, I suppose." He wagged a finger. "Just remember, tomorrow we must start our journey back to Bree to gather my things and give the lease over to that horrid woman, Lobelia Sackville Bagg--" His mouth was once again covered by the handsome dwarf's, who kissed him and shook his head fondly.

"You really do never shut up, do you?"

Bilbo shrugged, narrowly evading his husband's searching hands and needy lips. "At least I don't squeak anymore, your highness."

The two laughed, pressing their foreheads together, and the feast began, celebrating the last king and the age of the two new kings, who were all the wiser as to what humility-- and love-- really did mean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this one!


End file.
